That was the jab/cheer that Turtle left me with tonight. I am happy that he wants the Jags to win, but I would have rather had a “goodnight” or a “I love you, Mommy” as the precursor.
I know the reasons for both comments. For the latter, we’d been talking a little 3-and-a-half year old level football and I mentioned that we might go to visit his Aunt, Uncle and cousin’s house tomorrow to watch the game. It would be a consolation prize because it appears we are not taking the boys to Disney tomorrow as planned. Ironically, the cancelled trip was not the reason I got his painful first comment.
The source of Turtle’s ire is because I lost my temper about an hour before bedtime. I mean I lost it more than I can remember doing in a long time. More than the “peeing in the corner” episode.
I came up stairs after wrapping up a phone call to my mother, where I was looking for sympathy about our Disney vacation getting cancelled. Between that and Vader’s teacher informing us that he is moving to a new classroom on Monday, I was in a bad mood. (While each of those things comes with its own dramatic I-cannot-believe-this-is-
my our-life story, I will not lump them into this post.)
I hang up and hear what sounds like WWIII above my head. As I turn the corner to start up the stairs to the 2nd floor, I see what appears, at first glance, to be a stack of white pillows.
Upon closer inspection, I realize it is paper. Toilet paper Lots of toilet paper. In fact, 4 of the double rolls I purchased not 2 hours ago to replace the rolls that Splash put in the downstairs toilet, have been completely unravelled into a soft, plush, white mountain of quilted hell.
Several offshoots of paper lead me to my bedroom, where the 3 loads of freshly washed laundry, that had earlier in the day been sorted and stacked and were waiting to be put away for the week ahead, are now strewn about the room. The clothes are everywhere. On the floor. On top of the armoire. In the master bath. There was actually a pair of shorts hanging from the ceiling fan. Everywhere.
I am struck dumb. I cannot speak. And just as I think I can contain the rage rising up in my gut, a naked Splash runs in carrying the end of yet another roll. Upon seeing me, he turns and runs the other way. I follow him to his room where I find
the entire contents
of the twins’ dresser
on the floor.
All the blocks
on the floor.
All the sheets
stripped from the beds.
And the metal blinds
open half way on one side and
through out the now-bent blinds themselves.
And I lose it.
I later tell the boys that Mommy should not yell like that. I apologize for the way that I behaved and smile through tears when they all chip in unsolicited to try to help clean up.
But Turtle, in his very smart and emotionally intelligent way, didn’t forget about Mommy’s behavoir at bedtime.
Now I sit here, having a little pity party for myself.
I know that every parent has good days and bad.
And I know I often forget that life is, on the whole, pretty good.
I have a job I love, a healthy family, a roof over our head and a HH who I can share all of these things with. But on days like today, when another vacation is cancelled (I think this makes the 5th in four years that have been cancelled and there are several more that were seriously affected by bad news while traveling), when Vader’s schooling is an uncertainty that I have little control over, and when I feel like the worst mother in the world, I need to try to remember that tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow, we can look forward to new plans. Tomorrow, we can try again. And win. Kinda like the Jaguars.
So, like Turtle said, “Go Jaguars.” I am pulling for you because past performance should not be the only indicator of future success. If that was it, I’d hate me too.